Her Dirty Bartenders (Men at Work #5) - Mika Lane Page 0,22

to dinner, finishing the night with a chaste kiss. Two years later, she still thought we had something going on and her behavior was becoming increasingly erratic. Cab and Robbie wanted me to just fire her ass, but knowing how whacko she was, I hesitated to take action. On top of that, we were indebted—literally—to her old man. But something had to be done.

Resting my elbows on the office desk, I put my head in my hands. I felt a huge weight on my back, and it was getting heavier every day.

Not to mention, Cab’s father’s putting the screws to him. Well, us really. If he wanted his quarter million bucks back, it was everybody’s problem, not just Cab’s.

But if last night’s private party was any indication of our ability to raise quick cash, repaying Mr. Hendricks was within the realm of possibility.

A quick look at the numbers showed we’d made a sweet ten grand. If we got aggressive about scheduling these babies, we could pay him back in less than a year.

Question was, did we have that long before he pulled the plug?

A knock on the office door startled me, and when I opened my eyes again, a couple pieces of glitter had fallen onto the desk below me. Where had that come from? I ran my fingers through my hair, and more floated out, like the white stuff in a snow globe.

Goddammit. Every single time we had a party I somehow got glitter in my hair. It was like it got into the air filtration system.

I brushed a hand over my paperwork and pushed the glitter into a trashcan.

“Come in.”

The door opened slowly.

“Hey, Stell.”

“Oh, hi, Maze. Didn’t know you’d be up here. I wanted to check the schedule.”

I pointed behind me with my thumb. “It’s up there on the wall.”

She slipped behind my chair in the tight office and began typing this week’s schedule into her phone.

“What is that I smell?” I asked, turning around. It seemed so familiar.

And was that a piece of something silver in Stell’s hair?

She turned around carefully, pretty much wedged between the wall and the back of my office chair. “My perfume, I guess. Hope it doesn’t bother you. I don’t wear much anymore because so many people are allergic and stuff. But I figured it would be good to wear here when I started to sweat.” She giggled nervously.

Why was she nervous?

I stood, careful not to squash her into the wall. “What’s that in your hair?” I asked, plucking at a piece of silver tinsel.

Her eyes widened. “Oh. Hmmm. Look at that. Must have picked it up in the gym.” She shrugged, snatching it from my fingers and stuffing it into her jeans pocket.

She backed against the wall to squeeze out of the office, her gaze glued to mine the whole time.

What was it about this woman?

She suddenly broke into a smile. “Hey, you have a piece of glitter on your forehead.”

“Oh. Shit,” I said, rubbing my face.

She shook her head. “No, you missed it. It’s right… there,” she said, pointing.

I kept rubbing. Fuck this glitter shit.

“Wait, I think I can get it,” she said, reached a finger toward me and giving me a little flick.

“There it is. See?” she said, holding out a finger with one tiny square of the shiny crap.

We both stared at the offender.

“I didn’t take you for the glitter type,” she said, her smile turned up at one corner.

It was getting warm in the office. Very warm.

“I’m not. There was a costume party here last night. People go crazy with glitter these days.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Oh. That’s right. There was a private party. How’d it go?” she asked curiously.

“It was really good. Very profitable. We need to have a lot more of them.”

She looked at her watch. “Well, I'm on now. Gotta get back downstairs. But if you ever need me to work one of those parties, let me know.”

I wasn’t sure about that. But it was nice of her to offer. Some of our private parties got pretty fucking crazy.

“Thanks. I’ll do that.”

Just before she left the office, I spotted another strand of silver stuff tangled in her hair.

16

Maze

It wasn’t my day to tend bar, and since I’d gone over the previous night’s receipts, I could theoretically go home. But I didn’t.

Instead, I found myself heading downstairs, pretending to check out the tables and chairs on the main floor, as if I were looking for something. But what I was really doing was looking at Stell.